These fleeting moments of ambition, bubbling to the surface before bursting. I try my best to nurture them. Long, sleepless nights, spent at my bedside, head cradled in hands. Tumultuous depths, disturbances, then placid once again. Reflection comes back into view. Temporary clarity, then chaos renewed. Is this progress? Is this regression? I wonder in endless tides, rising and falling, often caught in shallow pools. Vain attempts at ruling these small worlds within worlds.